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Father, son explore the devastating effects of meth addiction in their respective books
He's reminded of that every day, as he and his 25-year-old son, Nic, travel the country to talk about Nic's meth addiction and ongoing recovery.
They speak at high schools and bookstores, drawing both the curious and the walking wounded, because their life isn't just an open book. It's two open books.
In "Tweak" (Simon & Schuster, $16.99), Nic Sheff tells the harrowing story of a decade of youthful drug abuse, capped by a five-year addiction to crystal meth.
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Reflecting on the emotional tenor of their joint appearances, Sheff said, "People come out and they're driving, like four or five hours, and they walk in the room and they just burst out crying. I guess it's like an Al-Anon meeting for some people."
It's a foggy morning in Seattle, and Nic ducks outside the hotel for a quick smoke before joining his dad for yet another interview. Reportedly clean for more than two years, he lives in Savannah, Ga., with his girlfriend and hopes to return to college to focus on writing.
Healthy but still wraith thin, he has almond eyes and a tangle of dark, wavy hair that slants over a fine-boned face. His fingers are long, his hands expressive, and he speaks slowly, searching for the right words.
Because addiction is a disease of amnesia -- the bad times quickly forgotten and denied -- these constant retellings are therapeutic and draw people who are desperate to cut through the secrecy and isolation.
"I think people are really responding to the openness of both books," Nic said. "We've both been able to be really honest and really kind of raw and emotional. It seems like it gives other people permission to voice those feelings and be really open themselves."
"Beautiful Boy," which grew from an article David Sheff wrote for The New York Times Magazine in 2005, is Starbucks' featured title and has hit No. 2 on The New York Times bestseller list. Its straightforward narrative style provides much-needed context and is a good place to start, if you plan to read both.
"Tweak" is No. 3 on -- of all things -- The New York Times children's list. Pitched at ages 15 and older, "Tweak" is unsparing even by the standards of today's increasingly edgy young-adult fare and has a more existential, in-the-moment flavor.
The life of a cash-poor street addict is sordid by definition, and Nic seemingly did it all -- hustling his body; stealing from his adored half-sibs, Daisy and Jasper; lying to everyone -- his dad, mom Vicki and stepmom Karen.
When Nic finally confronts the inexplicable self-loathing he'd harbored since childhood, there's a sense of relief and, yes, admiration, for his courage of self-honesty.
"Though I have done many shameful things," he writes, in a moment of quiet epiphany, "I am not ashamed of who I am."
LESSONS FROM THE CHILD
As if living through this hell weren't education enough, David Sheff said reading "Tweak" helped him understand the forces behind his son's self-destructive behavior.
"Everybody tells you over and over again that addiction is a disease," said Sheff, a trim, self-possessed man with a deep voice, brooding eyes and close-cropped white hair. "But when I read Nic's book I understood not just that this is a disease, but what the disease means.
"I would always say, 'How could he do this to me? I know he loves me and I love him so much and we have this good relationship.' Or, 'How could he do this to Karen?'
"It was really useful to understand that it's not about us. When a kid is on drugs, they care about one thing and it's getting high. And it's more than 'cares' -- it's a need."
Even as a child, Nic was living on the razor's edge. Bright, sensitive and a gifted writer, he appeared headed for great things. Though his parents -- both journalists -- divorced when he was 4, they'd nurtured his talents, showered him with love. Nic seemed as golden as any other child of affluence.
But behind the facade was a troubled kid. Drunk at 11, smoking pot daily at 12, Nic devoted much of his teens to an escalating menu of illicit drugs until, at 18, he found the one he'd been looking for: crystal meth.
"It just felt like it completed me and I felt confident and strong," he says now, "and I felt like I could talk to anybody and accomplish anything. I think I was pretty much instantly feeling I need to keep doing this drug, as much as possible."
And so he did, eventually using not to get high but to feel normal as the toxic drug depleted his brain's natural dopamine, a neurochemical that affects the brain's pleasure center.
"When I was coming down," Nic said, "it made me feel like I'd just been gutted completely and that I would never be happy again. It's the most wrenching, horrible depression."
SEARCHING THE VOID
It wasn't until his fifth inpatient stint -- at a cost of $20,000 to $30,000 a month -- that rehab forced him to confront the emptiness and self-loathing that helped feed his addiction.
Where did Nic's emptiness come from?
"That's a really good question," his father said, "and the second question is, 'Where was I all this time?'"
David Sheff wasn't naive about drugs -- he writes that he'd smoked pot in his younger years and viewed it with a casualness he now regards as stupid.
Still, when he learned Nic was smoking at age 12, he and Karen sought help from Nic's teacher -- only to be told, "I don't think you have to be overly concerned. It's normal. Most kids try it."
While growing up, Nic spent school years with his dad in the Bay Area and summers and holidays with his mom in Los Angeles. He says he was always missing someone, and he never knew how he fit into his parents' new families.
But he insists it's too simple, and incorrect, to say the divorce caused his addiction.
"The bottom line," he said, "is that a ton of people have situations that are much more difficult than mine and much more traumatic. I think that I was partly just born this really sensitive person. Stuff really affected me in a way that I don't know that it would have affected everybody."
Genetics no doubt played a part. Nic's grandfather, we learn, drank himself to death. Nic has since been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And while he can't conceive of using drugs again, he has learned never to say never.
"In the past, I've had this feeling that I could look someone straight in the eye and say, 'I'm never going to use again,' and I would have meant it -- I really, really would have meant it. Then a couple of months later I'd relapse. So it's never over."
While it's not a perfect analogy, David Sheff likens addiction to cancer in that some patients recover and some don't, regardless of how much their parents love them and try to help.
Nic agreed and said he has learned to accept that vigilance is the price of his disease.
"It's always with me," he said, "and I have to be careful and protective of myself."
THE STING OF NONFICTION
Some months back, while working at a Savannah restaurant, Nic faced a pivotal challenge, one that could have undone all his progress.
"Hey," one of the waitresses told him, "I've got some great coke if you want some."
"She didn't know my story, obviously, and tried to hand me this little sample bag," Nic said. "And I had to walk out. I would have liked to be like, 'Oh, no, I'm in recovery, no, thank you.'
"But for me, I just walked out of that restaurant and I've never gone back. I left the job, yeah, but it was worth it to me. I just don't want to be in that position."
On Wednesday, a day after leaving Seattle, father and son were off to tape a segment with Oprah Winfrey, who, famously, got burned by James Frey's fictionalized drug memoir, "A Million Little Pieces."
"Because of their experience, they are so careful," David Sheff said, "so we've had to document everything."
Ironically, he had to call the family lawyer, who had gotten a breaking-and-entering charge off Nic's record and ask him to dig it back up for Oprah's fact checkers. Fiction? He should be so lucky.
For parents seeking prescriptive truths, Sheff offers no bromides, because every situation is different. But he does wish he had gotten Nic into treatment at a younger age and he decries a government policy that favors prosecution over treatment.
"The war on drugs is a joke," Sheff said. "We spend $40 billion a year, and the proof that it's a failure is that any kid can get almost any drug they want in any city in America within half an hour."
Last week a man in the audience told them he'd done everything right -- from talking to his son about drugs to intervening early and persevering through three relapses. But he wasn't one of the lucky ones. His son died six months ago.
"The idea that Nic could relapse -- in a way it's unthinkable," Sheff said. "I see a really healthy person. But at the same time, there's a part of me that also understands the pernicious nature of this disease -- that it tricks all of us."
©2008 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
